Page 19 of Off the Grid
Bullets hissed in the air all around him.
He rolled, ignoring the pain as his backpack dug into his skin, and didn’t stop until he found cover in an alcove near the side entrance to the building. Dust stung his eyes as bullets ricocheted off stone. Leo pulled another clip from his bag, reached carefully around the corner, and returned fire. He kept the barrel low, aiming to frighten more than anything else. The bullets stopped. Tires squealed.
Leo jumped to his feet and ran. The light ahead was green. The van raced through the intersection, going from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. There was no way he’d keep up on foot, so he grabbed the first thing he could, which was, in typical New York fashion, a taxi. The cab was stopped at the light. Leo yanked open the door and flashed his badge at the driver.
“I need you to follow that van right now.”
The man looked over his shoulder, eyes going wide. “I can’t, man. I’m in the right lane. I can’t make a left turn.”
Just his luck—Leo found the only rule-following cab driver in New York City. “Do it. Now!”
He slammed into the seat as the driver pressed the gas and peeled into the middle of the empty intersection. Horns blared. A pedestrian screamed bloody murder.
“Which van?”
“The black one, straight ahead. Don’t let it out of your sight. I don’t care if you have to run a light. You won’t get in trouble. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you have a phone?”
The cabbie dug into his pocket and slid the phone through the plastic divider. Leo dialed Nate’s number. His partner picked up on the third ring.
“McKenzie’s been taken,” Leo said, not giving Nate a moment to answer. “A black van with at least three occupants pulled up to the back door of the restaurant as she was leaving. I was waiting by the front door and didn’t realize she’d left until a waitress told me. By the time I got around the corner, it was too late. They duct-taped her lips, put a bag over her head, and threw her into the back of the car.”
“Do you have eyes on?” Nate asked, slipping into business mode immediately.
“I’m following behind in a taxi cab. They opened fire—”
“Opened fire?” the cabbie repeated from the front seat.
Leo ignored the outburst. “—so I had to get off the street. License plate is Alpha-Tango-Yankee-One-Nine-Eight-Charlie. I can’t tell the make or model.”
“I think it’s a Nissan,” the cabbie added.
“The cab driver thinks it’s a Nissan.”
“Any idea on destination?”
“We’re traveling west on…”
“Fifty-Third Street,” the cabbie chimed in again.
“Thanks,” Leo muttered. “West on Fifty-Third Street. I see Times Square ahead. My guess is we’re heading over the river—probably the George Washington Bridge, though they could be headed upstate via the West Side Highway. They have New York plates.”
“Okay, Leo, stay on the line. I’ll get the tech team to start tracking your phone, and I’ll keep mine on speaker. If you get more information, just say so. I need to step into the other room for a minute to grab the landline so I can call this in, and then I’ll be back. Don’t lose sight of the target, okay?”
“I won’t, Parker. I promise you, I won’t.”
He heard a click on the other side of the line, then some static shuffling. He dropped the phone into his pocket as the light ahead turned red. The van slowed.
“Don’t get too close,” he told the cabbie. They screeched to an immediate halt, and Leo’s forehead slammed into the plastic divider. “Shit, man. I meant slow down, not stop.”
He rubbed what he knew would be a bruise come morning and stared through the windshield. If he got too close, they might shoot. If he got out of the car, they might shoot. If he didn’t do either of those things, they might get away. The cab was too obvious. As soon as they reached the highway, the yellow paint would be a beacon to the Russians. It would be impossible to tail them discreetly. He had to find new transport. He had to—
The light turned green and the van took off again.
The cabbie chased after them.
As they flew through the intersection, Leo found the answer he’d been searching for.
“Stop!”
